


Move in

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (un)required love, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, John does not observe, John is a good parent, M/M, Misunderstandings, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Parent, a little angst is all we want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 22:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: Sherlock wants John and Rosie to move out.At least that's what John thinks.





	Move in

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Amelia :D Thank you so much

Making tea for the two of us has become an early morning ritual, the first thing I do when I come downstairs just after waking up. Most times, Rosie is up before me and I hold her to my chest while putting on the kettle and getting two mugs out of the cupboard. Earl grey, two sugars for Sherlock, none for me.

The only thing that differs is where Sherlock is sitting or laying in the flat. Sometimes, he is still in bed and I put his mug on the bedside table and he opens his eyes and reaches out to give Rosie for a cuddle. It’s incredibly endearing how soft, how loving he can be.

Today, my bladder wakes me before five and I curse silently. My daughter is still asleep when I pick up my clothes for the day and go downstairs, leaving them in the bathroom for later. The upside to getting up this early is that I will be able to have a long shower, have some time to myself. It’s been sometime, since…

Sherlock is up, sitting at the desk in the main room and I mumble a good morning, before shuffling to the kitchen. I switch on the light and take the kettle, filling it. From the living room, I can hear the sound of Sherlock’s fingers against the keyboard of my laptop. I gave up trying to password protect it years ago. I wonder if he’s on a case, not having been able to help him chase criminals in a long time. Not since Eurus, not since we moved back to Baker Street. I’m the one to be blamed for that. As much as I loved our life together, I have a daughter to think of and Rosie has lost too much during her short life already. She won’t lose me. Sherlock is surprisingly supportive of this.

I chuckle, as I pick out our two favourite mugs from the dishwasher. Only yesterday, my consulting detective send me pictures of a corpse and wanted my advice, as if he had ever needed my help. I appreciated the gesture very much.

While the tea steeps, I make some toast in hopes that Sherlock will eat and then go to the living room and lean over his shoulder to put his cup and plate next to the laptop. Sherlock looks like he hasn’t slept. He is still in the same clothes as yesterday, the blue dressing gown hanging loosely from his shoulders and his hair in perfect, ruffled curls. He looks lovely.

Sherlock hums in appreciation, the first sound he’s made in my presence this morning. The sound is part of the ritual and sometimes I think it might be the sole reason I even do this.

For only a moment I close my eyes and take in the heat and smell of him, both so familiar and exciting and forbidden and I force myself to pull away before the moment becomes awkward, unwanted. It has taken me months to even be able to get this close to him without being afraid I could hurt him again. Therapy has helped a lot. It doesn’t help with my unrequited feelings, but I learned to live with those years ago. In situations like this, I still wonder how it would feel to wrap my arms around him, kiss the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, how he would taste.

I lick my lips, then shake my head to get rid of the image. It’s inappropriate. He’s my best friend. We are raising a child together. I can’t destroy what we have for some stupid feelings.

I tear my eyes from him and focus on the screen to try and collect myself, only to freeze. An instinct tells me, this has nothing to do with a case.

Sherlock, of course, notices. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “It has come to my attention that your room is getting to small for the both of you. Rosie is almost four, she will need her own room soon. I have already found a few appropriate flats.”

My heart starts hammering in my chest. Sherlock is right, of course. Rosie only has a small corner in my room to herself and it’s not merely enough, hasn’t been for a while, but I have, until this point, tried to avoid thinking about it. Right now, leaving seems impossible, not when my life is good for the first time since Sherlock Holmes stepped off the roof of Bart’s hospital.

“You want…” I clear my throat, which feels tight with emotion “… move out?” It’s not even a sentence and I hope Sherlock blames my missing eloquence on me being tired. There is a slight chance he will, with his back still turned to me.

“It is the most rational solution. It is, as you are aware, not possible to make room for little Watson here, so a larger flat will be necessary.”

I take a few steps back, turn away from him. A smile, one caused by insecurity, by hurt, crosses my face.

“I know it’s… necessary, as you said. I just… Why would you… I can go and look for flats.”

If he wants me to move out, it would feel less like being thrown out if I went looking for a place to live myself. This is the rational thing to do but doing something rational with Sherlock means it has to happen now, right this moment.

“Judging by the clothes you wear, even if they have improved, you would choose something horrible.”

We look at each other for the first time this morning, and we chuckle. It feels good. Sherlock’s laugh has, from the first moment, been my favourite thing about my consulting detective. It’s a sound I rarely get to hear, but when I do, god, it’s perfect. And he only shares it with a few people. Mrs. Hudson, Rosie, sometimes Greg, and I feel honoured to be one of the chosen few.

Maybe there is a little magic in this world and I can trap it in a seashell and listen to it whenever I want, need. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? It would take the laugh from the person it belongs to. God, I watched the little mermaid too often over the past weeks.

So, I enjoy the chuckle while it lasts; taking in the way Sherlock’s face is wrinkling with beautiful lines. It makes him only more beautiful.

Sherlock closes the laptop and gets to his feet and I tilt my head back just a little to still be able to look into his face. It happens almost automatically. I can’t look away from those eyes for too long.

“Little Watson is up.” Sherlock says and a curse slips from my lips. I love my daughter, but her sleeping schedule is almost as bad as Sherlock’s. “Go have your shower. I’ll keep her company.”

 

* * *

 

I’m glad to go to work today. It keeps me from thinking about how my life is going to change again. Sherlock wants us to move out. Only two years after he told me how great it would be for Rosie and me to come to Baker Street and stay, how we would all profit from living together, he wants us gone. I can understand his reasoning. It still hurts.

I looked at a few flats briefly before, but it’s hard to find something affordable in a part of London that is safe for a child. Sherlock, surely is better at this.

Just as I pack up my things to go home, I hear my text alert. It’s Sherlock, of course. It’s not like I have a lot of other friends who text me.

**I found a flat. The viewing is in an hour. I will meet you there. SH**

My hand starts shaking. I didn’t expect this so soon. He apparently can’t wait to have us out of 221B.

**Where?**

I text back, keeping it short so I don’t spill my feelings to the most observant man in the universe.

**West Hampshire. Good schools, low crime rate. SH**

**Little Watson’s best friend lives close by. SH**

It’s endearing how much he cares about Rosie. At least this is happening for a good reason, the best reason, really. I want my daughter to be happy and I know she can’t be, with us stuck in that room together, not for the long run.

I just didn’t want to think about it, not yet.

**Send me the address.**

Better get this over with, even if it breaks my heart. I already know what will happen. Rosie and I will move to a new flat and even if it’s not too far away we will only visit him once a week for the first few months and then we will see each other less and less and I will meet a woman I will try to love her as much as I love Sherlock and will tell myself I’m happy everyday and not believe the lie. It’s what I did with Mary, and it almost killed both Sherlock and me. I don’t want that anymore. I want him, I want Baker Street. I want that chuckle, those eyes, that brilliant brain for the rest of my life.

Stupid sentiment.

**Mrs. Hudson is taking Rosie to the park. SH**

See you in 30 minutes.

I hate myself for my self-pity, for wanting him to myself. He’s obviously not comfortable with us in the flat anymore, needs his space. Maybe teaching my daughter Sherlock Holmes is sort of her second father, allowing her to call him Papa, was too much. Maybe he knows how I feel and wants to keep me from falling deeper in love.

“Too fucking late, Holmes. Ten fucking years too late.” I mumble as I check my office one last time and leave. I don’t even force a smile on my face for the nurses or the cabbie outside.

I will lose Sherlock. I will lose Sherlock. Again.

It’s all I can think about as I fight the tears prickling in my eyes. I watch London pass by, in all its chaotic beauty and wonder, if it has ever made anyone happy who loved it. Sherlock Holmes is a lot like London. He gives you everything you need to survive but he can’t love you back, no matter how much he may want to.

Pathetic, Watson. Now you are making stupid analogies. It has come this far.

I bite the inside of my lip, hard, tasting blood. I want a scotch, badly, but I promised to never drink to cope with emotion again, a promise I want to keep for Rosie, for my family.

My text alert goes off and I scramble to get my phone. Maybe the viewing is cancelled, and I can prevent this from happening for a few months more. It would give me time to somehow get used to the thought.

Mrs. Hudson send a picture of Rosie on the playground. It’s adorable, per usual, and it is just what I need to calm down. Seeing Rosie happy always puts a smile on my face. The tears remain uncried.

 

* * *

 

The flat is beautiful. Four rooms plus kitchen and bathroom, a lot of open spaces and large windows and even a small back garden. And it’s affordable. At least that’s what Ms. Tailor tells them as she leads them from room to room. We end, where we began, in the living room.

“So, Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes. How do you like it?" The estate agent asks. She is pretty, in her thirties, unmarried. Flirting should have come easy, but I am too concentrated on not throwing up. This is beautiful, but it’s not Baker Street, never will be. Living here would be like living in Mary’s and my old house. Pretty, but not a home.

“I do like the flat. It’s spacious. The room to the garden will be perfect for me. I do appreciate the sun coming in at the right angle in the mornings.”

I freeze. I don’t understand. Why do I never understand?

Ms. Tailor looks at me and she seems to know exactly that something is wrong.

“I’ll just give you a few moments alone, so you can think about this.” She smiles a professional smile and leaves, closing the front door behind herself.

“You… you want to move here with us?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears and I nervously lick my lips.

Sherlock looks confused, which is an expression so misplaced on his brilliant face it’s almost comical.

“Of course, I will move in with you. I told you, Rosie and you will not be able to share a room much longer. Here, everyone of us can have their own room.”

Sherlock turns to face me fully and I now I can’t hide my relief. I’m not losing Sherlock, but I don’t know why.

“But you love Baker Street. I thought you just wanted Rosie and me to move out.” I hear myself say and it’s stupid to question him now when my biggest fear has been taken from me.

“Why would I want that? You make the best tea in London.” Sherlock raises an eyebrow and there is a playful smile on his lips, but I can see now.

There, for a brief moment, everything is visible on his face and my brain tries to take it all in, so does my heart. The doubt, the hurt, the love. Sherlock Holmes loves me. He has loved me for a long time and is as insecure about this as I am. We’re idiots.

The biggest idiots in the entire universe.

Sherlock’s eyes are soft

He knows I know.

The moment we have been waiting for, it’s so close I can almost taste it. The room is charged with emotion and for the second time today I want to cry.

“I want to make tea for you for the rest of our lives.” It’s not the love confession I had planned on, nor is it the place I want to be. Not for this.

“Let’s go home.” I say, and my brilliant Sherlock understands.

There is another couple waiting for a viewing already and it makes it easy to just leave.

 

* * *

 

I spend the ride in the cab giddy with emotion and every time I look at him I’m met with a smile and I reach out for his hand. We both know what is going to happen and it’s exciting. Sherlock’s hand covers mine completely and not for the first time I imagine it on my naked skin. I wonder, if in love, Sherlock is as brilliant as he is in everything else. I can’t believe I might find out.

John Watson, you are one lucky bastard.

And I thought emotions would get easier once you reached a certain age.

Sherlock pays the cabbie and I hurry to the front door, struggling with the key. My hands are shaky with excitement. Sherlock Holmes loves me.

I feel his presence behind me and turn to look at him. Pale eyes stare back and I can’t wait anymore. Right there, in front of our home, where my new life started when Sherlock got out of a cab and offered me his hand, is where I kiss him.

Sherlock huffs a soft breath against my lips and my eyes fall shut.

This is not how I imagined kissing Sherlock would be. He’s almost shy as he moves his mouth against mine and his lips are soft and I’m desperate, so desperate for him. My fingers find his curls, but I don’t need to pull him down to me. We are equal in this, not only our height, as I stand on the front step, but also in our emotion. We both want this, and I can’t believe my luck.

“John.” He whispers and the sound of London around us dies, all I can hear anymore is my Sherlock. I pull him towards me again and this time the kiss is less hesitant. Our noses are bumping together, and we giggle. It’s all I wanted. The most wonderful sound and the best kiss of my life combined in a dizzying experience.

“I didn’t know.” Sherlock whispers. He looks at me with honest eyes. “About you.”

I brush a curl from his forehead and it doesn’t matter that people are walking by. This is just us. Nothing else matters.

“I didn’t know about it either. I thought we were going to fuck this up, again.”

He smiles at this and I just need to kiss him again, dip my tongue into his mouth and we fall back a little, my back hitting the door.

“We hurt each other a lot and you assumed it would happen again.” His voice vibrates through my body.

“I guess I did. I’m glad we … talked.” I grin so does he. “Thank you for being that open earlier, for letting me see.” I add. Sherlock is as good as hiding feelings as I am. He isn’t now, and he looks so young in his emotion I must kiss him again, hold him against me.

“You should move in tomorrow.”

“If you make some room for my stuff in your closet.”

Sherlock’s fingers find my neck and cheek and as they travel over my skin I am surprised at how tender he is. I take the hand on my cheek in my own and turn my head to kiss it.

“Little Watson is approaching.” He smiles, looking to his right.

Rosie looks adorable with her pigtails. She is holding Mrs. Hudson’s hand and both ladies are smiling at us. We are smiling back.

* * *

 

Making tea for the two of us has become an early morning ritual, but it’s not the first thing I do anymore. For the past two months before I do anything, I kiss the man I love good morning. Sherlock is sitting or laying in the flat and I lean down to press our mouths together. Sometimes, he is still in bed with me and a kiss turns into more and god, I love that too. Afterwards, I get Rosie and I hold her to my chest while putting on the kettle and getting two mugs out of the cupboard. Earl grey, two sugars for Sherlock, none for me.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little Story. I hope you liked it :D
> 
> Have you seen Cargo yet, I'm scared to watch it


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